


Friends in Small Places

by Stella_Malodi



Series: FYDL Darcyland POC Week [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Claustrophobia, F/M, FYDL Darcyland POC Week, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_Malodi/pseuds/Stella_Malodi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has a panic attack. Sam helps her through it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I’m… going to go do nothing, now. Because I’m exhausted.”</p>
<p>“Panic attacks do that.”</p>
<p>“Don’t I know it,” Darcy muttered as she got to her feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in Small Places

**Author's Note:**

> Saturday's Prompt: Meet-Ugly
> 
> I wasn't actually sure what a meet-ugly was. I looked up some prompts, and it seemed to mostly be 'meeting under bad circumstances,' so I went with that. Because the other possibility was 'bad first impressions,' which doesn't really work for oneshots.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for claustrophobia and panic attacks. Because in this fic, Darcy is claustrophobic and has a panic attack, and I don't skip over it. I'm not claustrophobic, but I _have_ had panic attacks. So... hoping I got the former right, pretty confident I got the latter right. If these are triggery things for you, you should probably read a different fic.
> 
> Friendly Reminder: In this Soulmate AU, everyone is born with a tattoo of the first words their Soulmate will say to them, in their Soulmate's handwriting. Showing or telling anyone what it says is a big taboo.

Darcy got it. Really, she did. The Tower was under attack, which meant that she, a civilian, would be in danger. Well, _everyone_ would be in danger, but her civilian-ness meant that she wouldn’t be able to _help_.

That didn’t mean she was in any way, shape, or form _happy_ about being shoved into a very, very small room and being told to ‘sit tight until it’s safe.’

This was… this was not okay. _She_ was not okay. The room was too small. It wasn’t really a _room_ , it was a _box_ , even _smaller_ than the elevator, and she wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Well, logically she knew it was, but with as small as the elevator felt—

Darcy gulped and closed her eyes, trying not to feel the walls closing in, trying to imagine that she was somewhere else, that she was just in a regular sized room—

Her feet were touching the opposite wall. The so-called ‘safe room’ was so small that she could sit with her back to one wall and touch the opposite wall with her feet. Whose idea _was_ this?

She brought her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and tried to breathe slowly, steadily, tried to calm the panic that was threatening to take over her mind—

She could already taste the adrenaline—

No! If she could just distract herself, just get her mind off of the walls closing in around her, the too-small space—

She patted frantically at her pockets—

No phone, no iPod, nothing to take her mind off of—

She couldn’t breathe.

There wasn’t enough air, not enough air, and she was going to _suffocate and die in this tiny, tiny room_ —

She shook her head violently, tried slow her breathing, but _how was she supposed to breathe when there wasn’t any air—_

A song, she had to think of a song; she couldn’t hyperventilate if she was singing. A song, a song, a song… she knew songs, knew lots of songs, had lots of songs memorized, but she couldn’t _think_ of any of them, couldn’t _remember_ any of them, couldn’t seem to think of anything except for the part where _she was trapped and she couldn’t breathe and—_

And someone was talking to her.

Her eyes shot open. There was a man there, crouched down in front of her, not touching her but speaking in a calm, soothing voice. Behind him, the door to the safe room was open. With a strangled cry, she dove for the door, pushing him out of her way without a second thought. She crawled until she was free of that _coffin_ , then collapsed onto the floor of the hall, sobbing with relief.

Within moments, she was surrounded again, this time by people rather than walls. A desperate whine left her throat, and she curled up into a ball again; they tried to get even _closer_ , but then someone—the man from before, she thought—said something. His voice was sharp, rather than soothing, but the result was the space she needed; the crowd of people backed off.

She was free, but she still couldn’t stop hyperventilating, and she was starting to get dizzy.

The man crouched before her, but further away this time. Company, but not crowding. “Hey, hey, look at me. Eyes on me. Just listen to my voice. I need you to breathe with me, Darcy. Just breathe. In… hold it… and slowly out.” He continued to talk to her, to breathe with her, until she was able to breathe normally again. Her heart slowed, the sobs stopped, and eventually, she could no longer taste adrenaline.

She relaxed all at once, and groaned. “I really, really hate panic attacks,” she said.

He suddenly went still.

“What?” she asked, too tired to be anything but blunt.

“Uh… nothing. Well, it ain’t nothing, but it can wait.”

She nodded. “Okay. Good. I’m… going to go do nothing, now. Because I’m exhausted.”

“Panic attacks do that.”

“Don’t I know it,” Darcy muttered as she got to her feet.

She turned towards the end of the hall and froze. Just the _thought_ of stepping into the elevator had her throat feeling tight, but taking the stairs was… also feeling impossible at the moment. She spun around, and was faced with a crowd of worried Avengers. She swallowed. “Uh, Thor? Do you think you could fly me up to my room? Or maybe the roof? Or, uh… actually, could we just go flying?”

“I could take you,” the man offered before Thor could answer.

She blinked. “You can use Mew-Mew?”

He laughed. “No, but I’ve got a set of wings.” He paused. “I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m Sam Wilson, also known as—”

“The Falcon,” she finished.

He nodded, and sent her a charming grin. “At your service.”

She was surprised to find herself considering it. She knew a few things _about_ this man, but she didn’t know him at all; they’d only just met. And yet… there was something about him, something that made her trust him. It was strange, and a bit alarming, if she was being honest, but it was there. She looked at him, and she just felt… safe.

“All right,” she said after a moment. “Just, you know, don’t drop me. And, uh, no aerial acrobatics. Maybe some other time, but…”

“This is about calming down,” he said with a nod. “I get it.”

She tentatively smiled. “You do, don’t you?”

He returned her smile, and her heart fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

 

* * *

 

Just as she’d predicted, she fell asleep a few minutes into their flight. She woke only briefly when she was tucked into bed.

“Jane?” she asked sleepily.

“No, it’s me,” Sam answered. “I’m putting your glasses on your bedside table, and your shoes are at the end of the bed.”

“Mmkay. Thanks for the flying and… everything.”

“Anytime,” he said.

She was already drifting off again when he pulled up a blanket, kissed her forehead, and left.

 

* * *

 

When she opened her eyes the next morning, she felt… better. Still a little shaky, but definitely better. She reached out, grabbed her glasses, and was surprised to find that they were sitting on a piece of paper. She sat up, pulled on her glasses, and picked it up. When she unfolded it, she blinked.

That handwriting…

_“I don’t remember what I said to you, but I’ve got the first words you said to me written on my skin. I didn’t want to add to things yesterday, but you need to know._

_I don’t know for certain that we’re Soulmates, but I’m hoping we are._

_—Sam Wilson”_

Darcy was out of bed and running without a second thought.

 

* * *

 

It was probably a good thing that Sam was just outside her door, because she wouldn’t have known where to find him, and she wasn’t sure how long it would have taken her to think to ask.

Of course, the _less_ good thing about him being just outside her door was that she barreled straight into him when she dashed out of her apartment.

_Then again_ , she thought as he caught her, _maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all…_

“Darcy?” he asked, looking as surprised as he sounded.

She leaned up, pecked him on the cheek, and took as step back. “What kind of person,” she asked with a playful grin, “says, ‘Well, hi there. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ to someone who’s having a _panic attack?”_

“If I had to take a guess,” Sam said with a grin of his own, “your Soulmate.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how many shady bars did you go into, trying to find me?”

“You don’t want to know. There’s a _reason_ I carry a taser.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
